Invisible Man
by The Smoose
Summary: I'm not exaggerating; women literally fell at my feet. Hell, men even fell at my feet. Talk about stroking my ego and that's the only thing they were stroking .


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything remotely Iron Man related, nor do I own Robert Downey Jr or Gwyneth Paltrow (unfortunately), and I most certainly don't own the band Reemer, or their song that inspired this fic, 'Invisible Man'.**

Oh, and I'd just like to thank everyone who stuck with me through 'River' and made it my highest reviewed fic ever! Not bad for a first Iron Man chap fic eh?

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So, yeah, I've been described once or twice as being narcissistic.

...ok, so it's probably been more than once or twice. Every other Thursday, if I remember correctly. Can I help it if I like to look good for my adoring fans?

I've always been a looker.

I was pretty much the cutest baby on the planet, according to those who knew me back then, and, of course, the media. Pepper discovered a few baby albums in one of the storage rooms a couple of weeks ago and spent a good hour oohing and aahing over the numerous photos of little me with masses of curly (I'll never quite understand why) hair, big brown eyes and slightly podgy face. She told me it was impressive than there weren't any embarrassing pictures, that they were all simply, quote, 'ovary implodingly cute', and flat out refused my request to see her baby photos, though I can't imagine they're anything but adorable.

It was the same through my teen years. I got a _lot_ of attention from the ladies from the age of around twelve, especially since I started growing facial fuzz by thirteen. It meant I could be cute and drop-dead gorgeous in one foul swoop.

I lost my virginity when I was fifteen. Oh come on, like you weren't expecting former Playboy of the Decade to have done it early. I was tall, studly looking by all accounts and could easily pass for nineteen, which is how old I told Sara Harper when she asked. I don't think she totally believed me, but we were both fairly wasted and she was all over me, as were about four other girls.

That could be where the 'Douchebag' version of Anthony Edward Stark first began.

Having been drooled over since before I can remember, I never found it hard to find attention, mainly female. Having developed from an attractive teen into (again, not my words) the reason God invented man didn't exactly hinder me. I'm not exaggerating; women literally fell at my feet. Hell, men even fell at my feet. Talk about stroking my ego (and that's the _only_ thing they were stroking).

I'll admit, I did go a bit off the rails after my parents died. The women and the booze increased, and with them came the screw ups. And then came the disasters.

And then came Afghanistan.

After I outed myself as Iron Man, it somehow made me even more irresistible. A couple of people even tried breaking in through the front gates. They still try now, four years later. I don't quite understand what it is about the chest RT that does it for some women, and to be fair, there's only one woman I'd care enough to ask that question to, but either way, it does make me feel several different kinds of smug, and Pepper knows I'd never act on anything thrown at me...anymore.

So, after all that, you'd expect that me, standing in front of a room full of around two hundred people, wearing a brand new, tailor made Armani suit, shoes and all, hair done to perfection, looking pretty much steaming hot and being blatantly _ignored_ would piss me off. I mean, I'm used to the world revolving around me after all.

And yet, as I stare at Pepper gliding towards me, looking like what could only be described as the epitome of perfection, wearing a smart yet simple white dress, clinging in all the places I like best, hair down and wavy, bouncing with every step, make-up only enhancing her angel like beauty, something I hadn't thought possible, something strikes me.

Everyone, including myself, came to see her.

And then she smiles.

Somehow, being the invisible man doesn't matter.

_Fin_


End file.
